for healthy gut flora
by platehate
Summary: technically, one could say that their job involved peddling drugs. [genfic, pharmacy AU]


**i.** **Lorazepam**

" _Kashima_."

Hori Masayuki breathes the word out in a hard, angry voice. He breathes her name out in three distinctly separate syllables.

"You are supposed," he bites out, "to be dispensing _medical_ advice to our patients. Not! I repeat, _not_ doling out _love_ advice or whatever. How many times have I caught you using cheesy pick-up lines already today? For god's sake, would you cut it out?"

The last sentence is a silent scream, but nobody winces any less for it.

The additional fact that Kashima has been busy staring at the curve of his tightened jaw instead of paying attention to what he's saying makes the neighbouring dispensers fear for their lives a little – the collateral damage when these two fight is more than legendary; even the most disruptive patients cannot hold a candle to them.

Usually Hori can be counted on to hold back in front of the patients, but his fingers are twitching and that's a sign he wants to yank on either his own or Kashima's hair, which is always right before things get _bad_. Like, _really_ _bad_.

Damage control is immediately requested on the pharmacy's shared WhatsApp group.

: whats going on man

: why does everyone look like they're watching tv

: lol

: idk can't see from recep

: yeah tell us

: hori and kashima what else

: oh

: oh

: OMG

: haha

: why did I even ask

: someone stop them lol

: ur one to talk

: seriously tho pls

: send help!

: kk hold on

: will pass her the tea break card looolll

: thanks

: OTL

They will all live to see another day.

* * *

 **ii.** **Glucosamine**

Mikoshiba stops in the middle of his tote assembly task and directs a venomous stare at the contents of one basket.

Really, it causes him almost physical pain to have to suffer the sight of such shoddily packed drugs – there has been no thought put into the presentation at all.

By right, how things should work is that one assesses the size of the packaging and the quantity of the drug prescribed, before selecting the most appropriate plastic zip lock bag – 75, 95, 110, 130, 170 millimetres across – and packing so that a) it is easy for people to count b) the drug name on the packaging is facing the outside and c) (which is not absolutely necessary, but would just, well, be nice, you know) the whole thing looks aesthetically pleasing.

Everyone hired by this company is obliged to go for the full day new staff orientation; everyone gets tagged to a more senior buddy when they join, to be shown the ropes. How could they possibly be getting this wrong?

Seo drifts by his workstation with drug labels in hand, and notes his distraction.

"What's the matter?" she asks languidly. "Did you cut your finger again?"

He grits his teeth and responds in the negative, re-bagging and re-tagging as he does. Casually, he pushes the plastic tote forward to scan the barcode and give her a glimpse of the drugs inside. "Know who packed this, by the way?"

She peers at them and says, "Oh, me."

Mikoshiba takes a deep breath and launches into a lecture on correct procedure, but Seo isn't listening. No one ever listens to him around here, damn it. But maybe that new kid will.

* * *

 **iii.** **Aspirin**

Sakura drags her glazed eyes away from the computer screen and dully surveys her surroundings. Checking and re-checking the prescription that she's just painstakingly keyed out would be taxing enough on her, what with all the care she has had to take to ensure that all of the patient's balance medication has been accurately recorded and duly subtracted from the new total they're to issue – but then, just as she completes it, the dreaded little pop-up appears on the bottom right corner of her screen.

 _There is an amendment for Rx no. 2xxxxx,_ she reads, and with a weary sigh returns to scrolling through each and every line to verify the contents and spot any changes. You can never trust a doctor, she thinks grimly, as Doctor Maeno has proved to them time and time again.

He'd called the pharmacy earlier to prattle about his day's outfit and his lunch plans (knowing that the poor soul who'd answered the phone couldn't simply end the call even though they had much better things to be doing), before finally getting to point about his deciding not to prescribe a gel in favour of a cream, so could they please look out for that.

Sakura squints a little harder at the screen, knowing something is off but unable to quite place it.

"Someone lend me your eyes please," she calls distractedly, and Mikoshiba is the one who materialises at her elbow.

"Ah, y-yes?" he stammers in that habitual way of his, the default mode of speech that he goes into when he's not being charming and suave and collected in front of any admiring audience (they don't necessarily have to be people, she's pretty sure she's seen him pulling the moves on a flock of pigeons before). "How can I help, Sakura?"

"Maeno called to say he was changing treatment options, from medigel to tetracycline instead…but doesn't something seem off? I can't quite find the mistake, though, I guess my brain's really scrambled…" she blearily trails off, shoving the redhead into her place in front of the screen and (god forbid Nozaki see her in such an unattractive pose!) grinding her the base of her palms over her eye sockets. "Look it over for me."

Mikoshiba leans in closer, inadvertently pressing Sakura against the countertop with his upper arm. "Err," he begins, not very eloquently, cursor looping across the screen. "I think it's this? The drug's correct, just that he changed it to tetracycline ointment when it should be the cream instead."

He is too focused on repressing that awful habit of his – that tendency to burst into unashamedly smug fits of self-praise – that he is entirely unprepared for Sakura to turn her face into his shoulder in gratitude.

" _Thank_ you, Mikorin," she mumbles into his coat, and he tries to hide the flush that unfurls over his unfairly fair cheeks.

"But now we have to call Maeno again, ugh."

* * *

 **iv.** **Diphenoxylate**

"Oh crap," Hori slaps himself on the forehead. "I'd forgotten Miyako-san was off work today, do we even have anyone to cover her roster?"

He squints at the colour coded timetable pinned to the pantry noticeboard, muttering feverishly under his breath and running one hand through his hair – it musses the immaculate styling a little, and a small lock of brown flops insouciantly against his forehead, despite how he keeps pushing it back. Hori gives up eventually, of course, focusing on a particular block for a second and narrowing his eyes.

"Hey, Sakura!" he calls out, as a tiny blur of vermillion hair and violet eyes whirls past. "You're at the reception next, yes?"

"Yup, Hori-san," she rattles back quickly. "That's right; reception, for the next hour and a half!"

"I'll be next to you," he calls after her retreating back – he presumes it's some errand for Nozaki, or she really needed to make a trip to the ladies room – and pauses to add in a mutter under his breath, " _thank goodness_ it isn't Seo."

Wakamatsu rather wishes he hadn't overheard that last bit.

* * *

 **v.** **Olive oil**

There's a little lull in the middle row when they finally manage to clear the massive pile of prescriptions to be picked, and the printers miraculously hold their peace instead of again regurgitating a quantity of labels vast enough to make everyone slightly nauseous.

Those with energy to spare immediately potter off to top up any empty trays – disappearing round the back, or into the frigid bowels of the storeroom, to be unseen and not left looking idle. This leaves Seo and Wakamatsu to lurk awkwardly in the vicinity of the printers, trying their best to look preoccupied in case Hori-san should happen to walk past.

After refreshing the page that displays patient queue numbers about 20 times (the numbers don't dip; no surprise there), Seo shifts her attention to Wakamatsu instead. It's only the first week he's been here in the pharmacy with them and so she knows absolutely nothing about this man, but when it comes to conversation, as with all other things, when there's a will, there's a way.

"Hey," she says abruptly, startling him out of his reverie, "Why is your nametag so different from the rest?"

Wakamatsu blinks in surprise at the sudden address and fixes wide blue eyes on her face before darting a glance at their respective nametags. "Oh," he begins haltingly, "umm. It's because I'm not technically one of this company's staff, I suppose?" He offers up a sheepish smile with those words, and Seo finds herself momentarily distracted by the warm fluffiness of the air around them. Quick glances over her shoulder at the crowd of silently watching patients work well to dissipate that; she snaps back to reality at the cold flatness of the tile beneath her feet; the fluorescent lighting.

"What's that mean?" She says inquisitively. "If you aren't working here, then what? You leaving us soon, Waka?"

"No, no," he mumbles, a little embarrassed by the overt display of interest. "I've studied to be a pharmacist, but before I can get a license and start practicing, I need to get in one year of working experience. So, u-um, I'll only be here for a year."

 _Ah_ , so that's why. Everyone who works here has the standard nametag, a polished little rectangle of plastic with an unflattering photograph and their name printed in bold underneath, along with the company logo. Wakamatsu Hirotaka's is instead just a slip of cheaply printed paper tucked into a plastic card holder and clipped to his chest, where she can absently watch it sway as he rushes about during the day, always ready to help, always eager to learn.

It has a barcode on it too. Seo glances around to make sure no one else in particular is looking, then grabs his tag and tugs with just enough force to bring it under the scanner of the workstation they're standing at. The *beep* sounds – and she releases him, what might pass for an apologetic grin playing on her lips.

"Sorry, Waka. Just wanted to try doing that once."

Wakamatsu feels his cheeks turn pink as he stammers that it's quite alright, only noticing much later, on the way home, that he never got to correct her mangling of his name.

* * *

 **vi.** **Enalapril maleate**

Nozaki is in the midst of skyping Doctor Miyamae about yet another patient when the phone trills. The problem with constantly trilling phones, though, is that sooner or later everyone gets inured to the sound; and then answering calls falls to the unfortunate lot of whoever so happens to be nearby and comparatively free. It's a natural aversion, he supposes, because you really can't tell exactly what sort of person is on the other end of the line.

He gives Wakamatsu, whose hand is hovering hesitantly over the blasted device, a nod of encouragement, and the boy inhales bracingly as he presses down on the answer button.

"Hello," he says, voice a touch shaky but still sweet, well-mannered. "You've reached the pharmacy. Wakamatsu-san here, how may I help you?"

It's Doctor Maeno.

Well, Nozaki thinks, some people really do have all the luck.

* * *

 **vii.** **Theophylline**

It's become usual practice for Nozaki, Sakura and Mikoshiba to head out together for lunch. Despite the changing of the rosters every six months, the fates have not yet contrived to split the strange trio up, and so the arrangement continues as always.

They're all three of them on the earlier shifts, and so it's usually only just past one when they stroll back from lunch. Today, their bellies are pleasantly full of rice and pork cutlet over broth, so they're warmly fuzzy and mellowed enough to greet with equanimity the daily ordeal of pushing through a crowd of squealing girls, all trying to keep it down but absolutely failing in that regard.

Unobtrusively rolling their eyes, they gingerly pick their way through and dart wary glances around, no longer allowed the luxury of staying in a food coma. The moments in which they key the password in are the most crucial, because one person has to clear a path, another to tap it out quickly, and finally someone has to block any one of the crazed stalkers from seeing the password. Everyone's at battle stations when they suddenly hear the most welcoming 'click' – and waste no time in springing for the door, slamming it behind them against the tide of adoring female that rushes forth.

"Phew," Mikoshiba breathes, exaggeratedly wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, even as he absently reaches out to straighten Sakura's hair ribbons; Nozaki wipes the impressed derisiveness on his face before turning to deliver a deadpan comment.

"This gaggle gets to be more of a health hazard every day, wouldn't you say? Perhaps we really ought to do something about it."

Mikoshiba and Sakura appreciate the sentiment, they really do, but they take care to refrain from mentioning that none of his ideas are ever any good. It's just then that Kashima barrels into them, hair cheekily mussed and pushed back, as if she wasn't already so dangerously handsome and charming without having to do that.

"Welcome back!" the Pharmacy Prince grins as she darts past, bestowing smiles and sparkles on them in equally large quantities (her theatrics are always hard to stomach, but admittedly even more so after lunch). "I have this story I absolutely must share, but alas – I really cannot be kept, for I have to go and pay court to all my lovely princesses."

"Oh, no you don't" a familiar voice says, and after a few puzzled glances around they turn belatedly to see Hori, casually leaning against the wall. He pushes himself off smoothly by the shoulder and lounges, with criminal grace, over the last two inches of tiled flooring that separate the cobalt-haired bane of his life from the white switch of plastic that will open the door's magnetic lock and unleash hell on earth – something he has to prevent, naturally, there being patients here who need peace and quiet to speed up their recuperation and all.

"Kashima, you're eating with me," he snaps, seizing her elbow and winding his arm through the crook of hers. "I'll see to it that you get back to work on time today, _if it's the last thing I do_."

The last they see of Kashima is her half-smug, half-disappointedly confused visage, before she's dragged around the corner and out of sight.

There's the tell-tale click of the side exit door opening, before it slams emphatically shut.

* * *

 **viii.** **Risperidone**

"I've asked for an intervention," Nozaki announces out of the blue one day after returning from a clinic meeting. Everyone's puzzled, but no one says anything until the air gets so thick it feels like someone has to speak. Three guesses whose lot that falls to.

Hori looks at Nozaki sceptically out of the corner of his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about now? As pharmacists we don't have to ask for interventions, we carry those out."

Nozaki clears his throat.

"To be more specific," he continues, "I've asked the management for an intervention regarding the Kashima situation." A pause of three seconds is affected to allow the weight of what that portends to sink in, so that he can continue speaking, now with the collective attention of everyone present.

More than half the staff present are simply wondering if his smug expression is exactly the same as his usual expression, but of course the most pressing issue on everyone's minds is whatever hare-brained scheme he has cooked up and what they'll have to do to contain him.

* * *

 **ix.** **Chlorhexidine**

Ryousuke has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He has never really thought so himself, of course. Excursions to nightspots and still-awkward college reunions inevitably culminate in dry heaving, followed by long bouts of picking crusted vomit off the seat of a friend's pants because they hadn't the sense to 1) not puke, and 2) not sit in their own puke.

Perhaps his ability to remain steady even under the influence makes him a natural choice when, at the end of the night, some unfortunate person must be saddled with the burden of ushering everyone else home. But even then he's not the only one who can stand after all those drinks. And the mornings after are practically guaranteed to hold an awkward urinal encounter or train pass-dropping exchange with the plastered people in question.

That one time he'd dropped Miyako-san while carrying her home is something he'll never forget. It's true he'd been deliberately placing himself in her path all night, and he's the one who got her drunk in the first place (oh, but she'd wanted to, and he was only thinking of her when he ordered half the cocktails on the menu and a beer for himself; her face had turned the most beautiful pink and she'd _beamed_ at him and that was all it took to get him feeling fuzzy too – he has no idea how they both managed to walk home).

She's in the pharmacy store room now, hair swishing attractively over her white technician's coat as she laughs.

It's pathetic, yes, but as Ryousuke shuffles back up to nursing from the pharmacy, he wishes she would laugh just for him.


End file.
